


Trip Through Your Wires

by blackkat



Series: Cracky KisaObi AUs [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Case Fic, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Private Investigators, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The most Kisame is hoping for when he signs the lease for a new office is a roof and four walls. What he gets is a mysterious and unfairly attractive office-mate, a secretive secretary, and a case with a missing child that takes him to the dark depths of the city, caught up in a mystery as old as Konoha itself.





	1. Chapter 1

Kisame is pretty much just hoping to find an office that isn’t already occupied by a serial killer.

Eyeing the doorway a little skeptically, he hefts the box with his handful of equipment up onto his shoulder, then carefully fits his key into the lock. It turns, which is a good start; Kisame hadn’t been expecting another scam, really, because Nagato was the one to set this up, but he’s gotten ripped off once and he’s a little wary about it happening again. Meeting in person is usually enough to convince people it’s a bad idea, but doing business over the phone always makes people underestimate him.

The first thing he notices as he pushes the door open is music, low but fast-paced and harsh. It’s heavy on the drums, and the singer is a woman with a pretty voice and a wildcat’s snarl to her words. The front room of the office is empty, a heavy oaken desk abandoned with a cup of coffee that’s still steaming, but there are two doors with frosted glass windows behind it. The left-hand one is open, the source of the music, and Kisame sets his box down next to the desk and steps around it, rapping his knuckles lightly against the doorframe as he approaches.

Whoever his new office-mate is, they're fairly neat, he judges. The office is well-decorated, with enough potted plants to make it feel lush and green, and even a small water feature set back against one wall. There's another desk with a pair of chairs, an older laptop sitting open, a shelf of books. And—

An overstuffed couch, deep brown leather scattered with white pillows, with a throw blanket tossed over it. A head of messy black hair is just about all Kisame can see of the occupant, and he pauses, wondering if he should disturb them. It seems ruder not to announce himself, though, so he knocks a second time, a little more firmly, and says, “Hello?”

There's a low groan, and a pale hand wrapped in bandages slides out from under the blanket to flap vaguely at the door. “Rin, go _away_. Go raid the morgue or something if you're hungry, I'm too _tired_.”

Kisame raises an eyebrow, because raiding the morgue doesn’t seem like the usual sort of solution to being hungry and that serial killer theory is abruptly starting to look more plausible, but he still clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says lightly. “I'm not Rin.”

A pause, and then the blanket is abruptly tossed back. One dark eye stares at Kisame, assessing, and then the man groans and sits up. He’s rumpled and his once-nice oxford is stained with dirt and what looks like blood, with even more wide white bandages visible on his arm where one shirtsleeve is rolled up to the elbow.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his hands over his scarred face and then quickly straightening the eyepatch he’s wearing. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t realize I had an appointment this morning. My secretary usually leaves me a note—”

“Nah,” Kisame offers with a grin, waving that off. “Nagato should have mentioned me. Kisame Hoshigaki, I'm renting your spare office.”

The man just blinks at him for a moment, and Kisame has one sinking second to wonder if Nagato forgot to tell the owner that he’d found a renter. Before he can say anything, though, the man groans and leans over, dragging a cell phone out from between the cushions. He checks it, then winces. “Shit. I didn’t realize today was the first. God, I'm so sorry.” He staggers upright, wavering for a moment, then gets his feet under him. “Talk about a horrible first impression,” he adds ruefully, and crosses the space to offer Kisame his hand. “Obito Uchiha. Yeah, Nagato said you were solid.”

Kisame flushes a little, and can't help but chuckle. Nagato is a bit shady, but he’s a good guy. “Not a problem, he passed along the key. Sorry to wake you up.” Obito has a firm grip and lots of callouses, and even though he’s a good head and a half shorter than Kisame, he meets his gaze without wavering.

That crooked smile flickers into being again, and Obito tips one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s past time for me to get up, anyway, so don’t worry about it. At least Rin and I got your office cleaned out last week, so that’s ready to go. Let me show you in.”

“Rin?” Kisame asks, stepping back to let Obito slip past him. The other man is entirely silent in his bare feet, and Kisame feels a flash of amusement, wondering if he normally acts like his office is just another apartment.

Obito waves his hand at the empty desk in the main room, even as he jimmies the second office door up a little and then shoves it open. “My secretary. Well, our secretary, if you want—she said she’d be happy to take over scheduling and whatever if you want her to, unless you’ve already got someone doing it. I'm paying her salary either way and she’s got a lot of free time, so she really doesn’t mind.”

A secretary, Kisame thinks, bemused. He could have a _secretary_. Even just getting an office is a step up, really; he used to work out of his spare room, but his new apartment is about the size of a shoebox if he’s being generous, and there just wasn’t enough space.

“That’s sweet of her,” he says. “If she’s willing, I'm happy to turn over my appointment book.”

The smile Obito flashes him is warmer this time, amused and friendly. “Rin will be overjoyed. She says I don’t make enough paperwork to keep her occupied. Here, this one’s yours. The door sticks when it rains, and if you plug in more than four things on the left wall you’ll trip the fuses, but Nagato said he told you that.”

Honestly, given what Obito is asking for rent, Kisame was expecting the place to have a lot more problems—hence the serial killer theory. He’s not about to complain when he’s paying about half of what he expected to be charged for a much dingier office.

“I’ll survive,” he says cheerfully, looking around the space. It’s the mirror of Obito's office, and there's even a desk set up for him already. “Thanks, this looks great.”

Obito's smile is a faintly bashful, but also a little proud. “It’s not the Ritz, but we do okay,” he agrees, and then points to a door set into the corner. “The filing room is back there, so I’ll have to wander through once in a while, and Rin will probably be in and out. If you want privacy, just close your door, we’ll respect that. Feel free to use as much of the space back there as you like as long as we can still get to the cabinets.”

Kisame grins, happy enough with that arrangement. “Thanks. Shouldn’t have too much at first—I’m still starting out.”

“Nagato told me you find lost kids?” Obito smiles, but there's a flicker in his eyes, something dark that’s quickly pushed down. “That’s—really admirable. I work with the police a lot, so if I hear of anything I’ll try to send them your way.”

Apparently Nagato isn’t the only good guy around here, Kisame thinks, and grins. “Appreciate it. You're a—?”

Before he can ask, though, the main door slams, and a woman’s voice calls, “Obito, I called you _seven times_ last night, and I know you're not dead. If you're avoiding me I'm going to break the coffee pot, I swear to _god_ —”

Obito blanches, turns on his heel, and bolts back into the main room, almost crashing into Kisame before he manages to flatten himself against the door frame. “Don’t you _dare_ , Rin! Touch that coffee pot and you’re dying for real this time!”

“Well maybe if you actually _picked up the phone_ once in a while I wouldn’t have to resort to _blackmail_!” the stranger retorts, and Kisame sticks his head out of the office to find a small woman with a bob of brown hair facing off with Obito, who has planted himself protectively in front of the espresso machine. Her hands are on her hips, grey-brown eyes flashing, and she manages to look entirely intimidating despite the neat lavender blouse and black pencil skirt.

“Most people don’t threaten their bosses, you know!”

“Most bosses don’t _sleep in their offices_ six days out of seven, Obito!”

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

“You clearly don’t have the self-preservation of a concussed lemming, so I have to look out for you, and if I think you're bleeding out in a _ditch_ —”

“You of all people would know _exactly_ when I died, Rin, so­—”

The shriek of the phone on the desk cuts them both off, and Rin heaves an exasperated sigh, gives Obito a withering look, and marches over to answer it. “Hello, thank you calling Truth Incorporated. How can I help you? Oh! Good morning, Detective!” She shoots Obito a dark glance. “Yes, I know he wasn’t answering his phone, sorry about that. His morning is open, so I’ll let him know.”

Obito groans as she hangs up. “Rin, I was out all night, I only just got back at five. If Bakashi wants me, he can wait—”

“Three bodies in the last four days,” Rin tells him, though not without a hint of sympathy. “The police can't figure out what’s doing it.”

There's a pause, and then Obito sighs. He ducks into his office, and barely ten seconds later hops out on one foot, pulling his shoe on. A jacket is slung over one arm, and he has a leather knapsack clenched between his teeth. As soon as his shoe is laced, he spits it out and slings it over his shoulder, drags one arm of the coat on, and asks, “Can you move my two o’clock to tomorrow morning? Tell Mr. Sarutobi it’s urgent police business, that should help him accept it. And make sure Kisame has all the keys. I’ll let you know how late I'm going to be.”

The door falls shut on his last word, and Kisame blinks, but Rin is already whirling towards him with wide eyes. “Oh!” she says, startled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, Mr.—”

“Just Kisame,” Kisame corrects easily, and tries not to show too many teeth when he grins at her. She’s small and cute, and he has a tendency to scare people like that. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiles back at him without hesitation, though one of her hands rises to touch the wide black choker around her throat. It’s thick lace and hung with silvery pearls, not quite meshing with the secretary outfit, but Kisame definitely isn’t going to remark on it. People like quirky things, sometimes.

“If you want,” she says politely, “I can get started looking over your appointment books, so that I can take care of scheduling. And ordering supplies, too, if you need them.”

“Ah, that’s really nice of you.” Kisame scratches his cheek, not entirely sure how to react to the distinct _lack_ of reaction. Neither she nor Obito even batted an eyelash at his appearance, and even in a city like Konoha, with a flourishing magical community, being blue isn’t all that common. Well, being _sad-_ blue might be, but _skin_ -blue isn’t, at least. Another reason it was so hard to find office space, probably, though Kisame tries not to dwell on it.

Rin giggles a little at that, raising a hand to cover her smile “You're cute,” she decides cheerfully. “Can I help you get set up? Obito will probably be gone for the rest of the day at least.”

Kisame doesn’t think he’s ever been called cute before, and he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “If it’s not an imposition, I wouldn’t mind the company,” he admits bashfully, but can't resist a glance at the front door. “Is he always like that?”

“Obito?” In the middle of turning on her computer, Rin glances up. “Pretty much. He overworks himself, but he’s always done that.” Her frown is vaguely disapproving nevertheless. “He has four consultations this week, though, so he’ll be around more once the police get done with him. Hang on, let me just reschedule this client and I’ll be right in to help.”

Kisame closes his mouth, his opportunity to ask what exactly it is Obito does having passed. It must be a particularly useful kind of magic, though, to be in such high demand, even if it doesn’t look like he charges much for it. The office is fairly shabby, and most of the furniture looks secondhand. Not that Kisame is complaining, honestly.

He slips back into his new office while she’s distracted, grabbing the box with his things. There's not a lot, and he only has two more boxes down in his car, but this seems like as good a time as any to bring them up. He can get settled, and see if anyone calls with a case for him. There haven’t been any the last week or so, but Kisame has a sinking sort of suspicion that that’s going to change very shortly.

 

Kisame has a pretty good instinct about when trouble is barreling towards him, so it’s not that surprising that he gets a call as he’s giving Rin the passwords for his business email. What _is_ surprising is who exactly is on the other end of the line.

“Momochi,” he says cheerfully. “If you're going to ask for another fight—”

“I'm not.” Kisame blinks, because he can't remember the last time he heard Zabuza be that short with him. Not since they became friends, at the very least. “This is business. Got a minute?”

Rin waves him away with a smile, so Kisame nods his thanks and steps back into his office, gently closing the door. “I can make some time. What is it?”

Zabuza huffs, halfway between concerned and disgusted. “One of the brats Haku knows has gone missing. I promised the kid I’d find him, but I'm not turning up anything.”

That’s unusual, in and of itself. Zabuza has a hell of a lot of connections in the city, and most of them are all too willing to tell him everything they know. It’s one of the reasons he and Kisame met, even—Zabuza’s network pegged Kisame the minute he got to the city, and Zabuza had taken exception to an older, stronger, nearly pure-blooded Samebito invading his territory. Seeing as how Kisame had taken exception to being murdered, he’d thrashed the other man and moved right in.

“And you think I'm going to have better luck?” he asks, a little amused, because Zabuza generally isn’t the hopeful, optimistic type, but for his ward he’d do pretty much anything, even if he’ll never admit it.

“You’ve got a talent for it, don’t you?” Zabuza demands, close to cranky. “Look, Kimimaro’s a street kid, nobody fucking cares that he’s up and vanished. But he’s been sick, and Haku is worried. Even if you can just find a body, I’ll pay you.”

“All right,” Kisame agrees easily, because there was never any doubt he’d take the case. “You know my rates. Have any idea where he was last seen? A picture? Something that belongs to him?”

“I know the drill,” Zabuza retorts. “I sent a runner to your place, but they said it’s empty.”

Kisame chuckles, glancing around the small space. He’s managed to get all of his hangings on the walls, thanks to Rin, and most of his books and supplies on the shelves. “I have an office now. You can send them here, I’ll wait.” He rattles off the address, newly memorized, and Zabuza hangs up with a grunt and a distinct lack of farewell.

Not even close to offended, Kisame grins, then digs through one of his boxes to find a white crystal the length of his pinky and a short coil of blue thread. He tucks them into the pockets of his duster, then drags it on, casting a glance around for anything else he might need. A vanishing street kid isn’t all that complicated, usually, but the fact that Zabuza can't find him is a little concerning. Normally Zabuza’s one of the people Kisame would go to for information about this kind of thing.

Well, without that cheat, all Kisame is left with is a few other contacts and some old-fashioned work. He doesn’t mind that part so much, even if it is a little more dangerous.

He’s still debating between the old broadsword leaning in the corner—his favorite, but a little unwieldy in close quarters—or a more unobtrusive katana when there's a knock on the main door. A moment later, Rin sticks her head in and offers him a smile.

“There's a boy here to see you,” she says, and the sweep of her eyes takes in his weighted pockets and the katana in his hand, but her expression never wavers. “Would you like me to send him in?”

“Thanks, but I’m on my way out,” Kisame tells her.

Rin beams at him. “Be safe. If you’re back my noon I’ll add you to our lunch order at the local deli.”

An office, a secretary, _and_ lunch delivered every day, Kisame thinks with a chuckle. He could get used to this. And—

Well. It’s just been a while since someone told him to stay safe. Not that it _means_ anything, because Rin seems like a kind person in general, but it’s still nice to hear.

He’s still grinning when he follows Rin out into the main room, where what looks more like a bundle of coats with a hat perched on top than a boy is waiting. Kisame can't help but raise his brows sharply, because when Zabuza said he was sending a runner he definitely didn’t expect this one. Not when another kid has gone missing.

“Haku,” he says, and offers him a wave. “Cold, kid?”

“It’s snowing,” Haku tells him politely, which could either mean yes, he is cold, or no, he’s not cold but Zabuza was. A tossup with them, really. He offers Kisame a rather damp paper napkin, looking steady, but Kisame can see the worry in the slant of his mouth, the grim darkness in his eyes.

Unwrapping the napkin, Kisame pulls out three white hairs, long and fine enough that when he wraps them around the crystal he can knot them there easily. The stone shimmers for a moment, glittering with deep red light, and Kisame grins, glad for that bit of luck. The hairs must have been lost recently, and that will make tracking the kid a hell of a lot easier.

“Last place you saw him?” he asks Haku.

Haku pulls his eyes from the crystal, then turns for the door. “I’ll show you,” he volunteers. “Zabuza is busy today, and he doesn’t need my help.”

For a moment, Kisame just looks at him, then huffs. He catches the door before it can fall shut and follows Haku out, waving over his shoulder to Rin as he goes. “This Kimimaro is a friend, huh?” he asks lightly, and below him on the stairs Haku tenses a little, shoulders rising towards his ears.

“We’re not that close,” he denies. “Kimimaro is sick, though. I tried to get him to go to the doctor, but…”

Doctors usually mean records, a trail. Easy enough for someone to find you if you're leaving reports of your presence everywhere. Kisame understands that well enough, and nods, opening the stairwell door before Haku can reach for it. The boy slides out through the gap, the whirl of freezing air that gets past him making Kisame pulls his coat closed a bit more tightly. There's already a layer of snow on the sidewalk, and the flakes are large and thick and falling fast. Kisame can't help but frown at them, because this is just about the worst weather to have a missing child in; it usually means what he’s looking for is a body rather than a person.

“Kimimaro is smart,” Haku offers, because he knows better than most what exposure means, and just how long a child can survive it. He looks up at Kisame, and it’s still a little surprising to see that flicker of sharp determination, the edge of anger. Haku is even-tempered and kind, but he’s also Zabuza’s apprentice and has been since he was five.

Holding his gaze, Kisame inclines his head, more than willing to take Haku's word for it. “Got a job?” he asks

Haku nods, turning and picking up a quick pace down the street. “He’s never told me what it is, but he just started working. He was talking about finding an apartment.”

That would mean a sudden influx of cash, and likely some connections that didn’t care too much about the legal side of things. Kisame frowns, not liking the implications, because there's only so much work available to underage kids without any sort of background. “Prostitution?” he asks unhappily, though he really hopes not; that will almost guarantee him finding a body.

Thankfully, Haku makes a definitively negative sound in response to the suggestion. “Kimimaro wouldn’t. I think he’d been seeing someone, though—he looked happier.”

Well, that’s not incredibly hopeful, either—coincidences of timing never are, in this job—but Haku looks happy for his friend and is probably already worried enough as it is, so Kisame keeps his mouth shut as they cross into the next neighborhood. It’s even more run-down than Kisame's new one, and as they walk if just gets grimmer. A former industrial district, Kisame assumes, but now it’s low, weathered apartment complexes and empty buildings.

“Here,” Haku says, coming to a stop outside the rusted, broken chain link fence edging an abandoned office building. “Kimimaro sleeps here sometimes. Zabuza was discussing giving him some extra work, and Kimimaro said goodbye to us here. I was supposed to meet him and give him medicine yesterday, but he was gone.”

Starting from here should give the spell a boost, seeing as this is somewhere Kimimaro spends a lot of time. Kisame pulls out the crystal again, wrapping his length of thread around the center, then holds it up by the cord and lets it dangle, turning lazily in the cold wind. At his side, Haku is perfectly attentive and silent, but still a distraction; he feels like a blizzard wrapped up in a boy, like there's something very old and powerful inside of him. Kisame has never asked directly, because it’s rude, but he’s met yuki-onna before; if Haku's mother wasn’t one he’ll eat his coat.

Still, despite the urge to look away, Kisame focuses, keeps his eyes on the spinning crystal. The deep red light slowly creeps out from the hairs, spreads like pooling blood to cover the white of the stone, and the thing shudders. It starts spinning faster, against the wind, and Kisame watches it closely, looks for the hairline black cracks that usually mean he’s tracking a dead body. There aren’t any, though, just light, like a beacon in the grey snowfall.

Then, abruptly, the crystal jerks to a stop. Kisame can feel it straining faintly at the thread, pulling him deeper into the district, and he lets his gaze slide in the direction it’s urging. Nothing visible yet, of course, but the fact that the spell worked at all makes everything simpler.

“Tell Zabuza I'm on the case,” Kisame says to Haku, because he’s not about to take Zabuza’s apprentice wandering into what could be a dangerous situation. Haku can take care of himself in most instances, but Kisame would rather not try his luck.

For a moment Haku looks like he’s about to argue, but his eyes flicker down to the crystal, linger on the sword visible under Kisame's jacket, and then slide up to his face. It’s reluctant, but Haku still nods, and steps back.

“Good luck,” he says quietly, then turns and vanishes down a narrow alley.

Kisame doesn’t watch him go. The crystal is pulling more sharply now, the spell reaching its height, so Kisame follows the tug. Around him the snow is getting heavier, but Kisame can't quite feel it the way someone else might—samebito are creatures of deep waters and cold oceans, and Kisame is only a quarter human. Just enough to pass, for the most part. It’s lucky, really, though Kisame sometimes doesn’t feel like it. He’s human enough, and some of the inhabitants of this city very much aren’t.

He wonders, just a little, what Obito is, thinking back to other man and the tired lines in his face. ‘Truth Incorporated’ doesn’t exactly provide a lot of information on what he does, and Kisame hadn’t wanted to ask when he likely already should have gotten that information before signing the lease. It was a last-minute thing, though—Nagato had mentioned putting the word out the next day to find Obito a renter, and Kisame had jumped on the offer and signed right then and there, because it was definitely the best deal to come his way.

It’s not that he objects right now, either. Obito doesn’t seem the type to deal in child trafficking, and as long as he’s not in that business, Kisame doesn’t have a problem with him, regardless of what he’s actually doing. Magic might be just as common as the mundane in Konoha, but ever since the Jinx Wars those who use it have been seen as second class, and everyone has to make a living somehow. Kisame tries not to judge.

Kimimaro’s trail spirals deeper into the district, following a crooked path of streets. The trail is probably meant to keep him away from the eyes of whatever more lawful people live here, Kisame assumes, because it makes frequent use of back alleys and shuttered streets. The kid can probably take pretty good care of himself, if he’s not sticking to more lighted areas, and Kisame isn’t entirely sure if that makes him feel better or worse. Someone Zabuza likes to hire for errands likely has a decent amount of skill at _something_ , but that also means whatever took him, assuming something did, was able to get the drop on him.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Kimimaro ended up in a ditch somewhere, sleeping off a hangover or something stronger—there are a couple of dream dens in this part of the city, and drugs like Wonderland aren’t that hard to get if one knows the right people. That can be even messier than finding a dead body sometimes—Haku might end up disappointed that his friend wasn’t quite who he thought he was, and that’s always emotional, but it’s none of Kisame's business. He can't be sure either way until he finds the kid, anyway, and aimless speculation doesn’t usually lead anywhere.

The spell, at least, is leading towards the river, down under one of the bridges spanning the Nakano. It’s an old rail bridge, even though the trains don’t pass this way anymore—nothing for them to pick up or unload with the industry here going under. The underside is dark and gloomy, caught between the looming buildings and the long shadows cast by the ascending sun, and Kisame carefully shifts his grip on the crystal, switching hands so he can reach his sword more easily. Lots of things like to live under bridges, and most of them aren’t as concerned with passing as human as Kisame tends to be.

Out here, in a place people don’t frequent? If there's something under there it’s either unfriendly or hungry, and maybe even both.

Kisame steps up right to the edge of the bridge’s shadow, eyeing the heavy concrete-and-steel arches. The bridge itself is very old, buttressed with newer materials and worn around the edges, and Kisame's been in the business too long not to be able to feel the eddying energy around it, ancient and modern meeting. Things like to come together in places like this, and they're usually things that most people would prefer be kept separate.

The crystal is still straining forward, tugging Kisame towards the darkest areas, and he grits his teeth, spends another half-second debating what’s best, then discards all other options and steps forward.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as he passes into the bridge’s shadow, the world shifts. The snow vanishes, replaced by humid air and murky green light, and Kisame's boots splash in shallow puddles that reflect back shimmers of rainbow light as if they're sheened with oil. The river stretches out into the distance, as dark as molasses and unfathomably deep, lapping against the crescent curve of shore that arches into the darkness beneath the stone. Moss grows in loops and whirls across the underside of the cavern, and spots of brilliance like fireflies flicker here and there.

Instantly, Kisame stops, having already intruded more than far enough. He flicks a glance at the crystal, still pulling, but it’s not a good idea to wander blindly into an unknown creature’s home, so Kisame doesn’t keep walking. He’s willing to bet that whatever is in here already knows he’s present, so he waits, trying not to grip the hilt of his sword too tightly.

“Sorry to just barge in,” he says lightly into the green-gilded darkness. “I couldn’t find the doorbell.”

The silence stretches thick and heavy for another long moment before something clatters across the stone. There's a rustle, a faint scuff of steps, and the shadows shift and part as a figure steps into view. Kisame can't help but tense a little, though he doesn’t quite dare step back as the eerie light catches on sweeping horns, blue-white skin, and golden eyes. Black nails curve into claws that trace along the jagged stone of the walls, and riverweed clings to dark hair that falls around an elegant but subtly inhuman face.

A troll, Kisame thinks, and wonders how impolite it would be to draw his sword right now. He’d thought most trolls stuck to forests and the countryside, far from people, where one or two wanderers who were unable to pay their toll wouldn’t be missed. To find one in the city, under a rail bridge—he must be particularly bold, or powerful enough not to care about being noticed, neither of which bodes well for Kisame.

“Traveler,” the troll says, low and echoing in the cavern. “Glib tongues are likely to be cut out when they interrupt my rest.”

Kisame raises his hands, placating, though he’s careful not to flash his blade or drop the crystal. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, and makes it as inoffensive as he can. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for a missing kid.”

It’s always a bit of a toss-up, whether directness and honesty will get him answers with creatures who live mostly outside the human world, but Kisame's learned it’s better to try than to dance around the subject. Some creatures have soft spots for children of any species, and sometimes those who don’t are willing to tell him regardless, just to get him out of their hair a little faster.

For a moment, the troll eyes him, before it tips its head in a slow assessment, gaze sweeping up and down Kisame's body. Black nails tap at the stone, and then the troll steps forward, the tips of his long horns just brushing the moss on the ceiling above them. Reaching out, he ignores the way Kisame stiffens to tap a curious finger against the thread holding the crystal.

“And your power brought you here?” he asks, a trace of cool amusement in his voice. “I hope you brought a toll.”

Damn it. Kisame hides a grimace, but carefully tucks his sword into his belt and checks the pockets of his duster. There are a few scraps of paper, a stubby piece of chalk, a silk handkerchief, a small bag of glass seed beads, and a rough chunk of amethyst floating around, but nothing that seems appropriate. In a last ditch attempt, he checks the pocket of his jeans, and—

A golden dollar, bright and polished. Kisame stares at it for a moment, trying to remember where he got it. Change for a coffee, maybe—some of the fae businesses are fond of dealing in gold and silver. He offers it up with his friendliest smile, and asks, “This count towards my passage, or the answers I need?”

The troll sizes him up, then scoffs quietly. He takes the coin and bites it, then holds it up to the light. Apparently satisfied, he tucks it into his loose blue robe, then says, “You don’t want to cross my bridge, you want to go under it. For a gold coin, I’ll allow it.”

Kisame breathes out, and silently thanks whatever fae barista gave him his change in coins. Samebito are nearly impervious to magic, but trolls are strong, and as tough as the stone their bridges are made from. It would be a hell of a fight, but not something to indulge in lightly.

“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “Much appreciated.”

“Utakata,” the troll tells him, and steps back. The curve of the stone behind him shimmers, straightens, and with a burble the water slides away, revealing a new path through the darkness.

“Thank you, Utakata,” Kisame offers, because his mother raised him with manners. “Kisame.”

Utakata turns the name over for a moment, then inclines his head like it’s another toll he decided to accept. “A boy paid me in silver to pass this way,” he says, and golden eyes are sharp, unwavering. “Not over, but through.”

There's not all that much across the river, so Kisame doesn’t blame Kimimaro for not wanting to go that direction; an old battlefield from the Wars starts barely a mile from the water, and there's enough malevolent magic lingering there that even Kisame would think twice about setting foot on that land. But under—under means he was keeping to the outskirts of the city, and was willing to pass through a troll bridge to keep from doubling back. Maybe something was after him, but…

It would have to have been worse than a troll, and for all that Utakata seems mostly benevolent, Kisame is willing to bet there's a stack of bones somewhere in this cave, and not all of them are from animals.

“No one else came through after the boy?” he asks, and hopes it won't come off as rude.

Utakata eyes him for a moment, as though he’s debating whether to answer, but finally he just tips his head, horns shimmering like an oil slick in the low light. “People who cross my bridge are rare.”

Not a yes, but not a no either, which is something a lot of people forget when dealing with creatures who don’t care for straight answers. Still, any more pushing will likely make Utakata try and eat him, and while Kisame can hold his own against almost anyone, it would definitely be messy as hell. One of the main reasons he sticks to arranged matches in Zabuza’s gym—there's a lot less collateral damage that way.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he jokes, taking a step forward. The troll doesn’t move, just watches him, so Kisame takes another, slips past Utakata as best he can.

A hand around his wrist stops him, makes him turn back. Utakata is watching him, and those golden eyes glow eerily. His horns are just about eye-level with Kisame as he leans in, breathing deeply, and then shifts back, wrinkling his nose a little.

“You carry the scent of death,” he says, and it’s close to disgusted. “I should have known.”

Kisame blinks, because he was just at the doctor’s for his checkup a few weeks ago, and in perfect health. “Death?” he asks curiously.

Utakata steps away, turning his back, and flicks a hand out in a sharp, dismissive gesture. “Next time tell me first who you treat with.”

Before Kisame can protest that he doesn’t treat with _anyone_ , let alone someone who would know a bridge troll, Utakata slides into the river in a boneless, nearly serpentine motion, dark water almost instantly closing over his head. The path he revealed shivers faintly, and Kisame's breath catches in alarm. There's no time for questions—unless he wants to be trapped in a pocket world, he needs to leave immediately.

Still, it’s curious enough that he casts a glance back at the vanished troll even as he reaches the edge of the bridge’s shadow. No sign of Utakata, but—

 _Death_ , Kisame thinks, a little uneasily. He’s definitely not dying, but what else could Utakata have meant? And then assuming he was treating with someone, which Kisame would have to be aware of to do, but has no recollection of—it’s a mystery.

Not the only one there is to be dealt with, though. Kisame's crystal is still pulling at its string, steady and insistent, and he breathes out as he glances down at it. It hasn’t gained any cracks, so Kimimaro is probably alive, but it’s leading Kisame north along the waterfront. There's not much here beyond the rusted-over train tracks and overgrown riverbank, and Kisame has to wonder why Kimimaro would choose to come this direction. Given his friendship with Haku it would be easy for him to get Zabuza’s protection, and even beyond that it seems like he’d want to be around more people if he was being threatened, not less.

At the end of the string, the crystal shudders and abruptly starts spinning, blazing with red light. It’s enough to startle Kisame, and he lets go of the thread automatically as he jerks back. For half a second the crystal is falling, and Kisame swears at himself, because he’ll have to restart the spell if it touches the ground, and that’s—

The red light shivers, ripples, and the crystal explodes.

Instantly, Kisame jerks one hand up to shield his face, spinning away, and hisses as needle-sharp shard scatter across his skin. There's a tinkling rush as they rain down, clattering across the cracked pavement and scattering into the grass, and Kisame grimaces, shaking them out of his skin as he turns to survey the scene.

 _That_ has certainly never happened before, and Kisame really, really doesn’t like being surprised.

Boots crunching over the shards, Kisame steps forward, crouching down to study the patch of asphalt where the crystal exploded. It’s cracked and scattered with snow, and he reaches out, carefully scooping the snow out of the way. Underneath is something black, relatively fresh. It smears across the bottommost layer of snow, and Kisame narrows his eyes. A splatter, here and then another a little further on as he clears more of the pavement. Something black like tar, but thinner. The consistency of blood, maybe, and there are plenty of things in their world that don’t bleed red, but not a single one Kisame can think of would interrupt a tracking spell like that.

He sits back on his heels, frowning down at the patches of darkness. There's an answer somewhere, but he can't see it right now.

With a sigh, Kisame pulls the handkerchief from his pocket and wipes it across the bloodstain, dabbing up as much as he can before he carefully folds it with the stain on the inside and pockets it again. He’s going to need more materials than just what he’s carrying for this.

Maybe it has nothing to do with Kimimaro at all, but Kisame's luck has never been quite that benevolent.

 

He clumps back into the office a few minutes before noon, carrying his coat so as not to dump snow all over the floor. Rin is at her desk, on the phone, and flashes him a distracted smile as he closes the door behind himself.

“—two jars, yes, I heard you the first three times. Obsidian dust? We have about three tablespoons, but—it was _backordered_ , I told you that. What? The nineteenth at the earliest. No, I'm not going to call and yell at them for you, Obito, I'm your secretary, not your mother. That is _not_ in my job description—you _jerk_ , you _always_ play that card! All right, _fine_. I’ll see what I can do. _Eat_ , I know you're tired. No, I'm fine, worry about _yourself_ , idiot.” With a disgruntled huff, she slams the phone down, glares at it, then quickly writes several lines on a sticky note.

“Welcome back,” she says, still mostly distracted. “If you want there should be menus in the top drawer of your desk. Obito isn’t going to be back until later, but I was about to order lunch anyway.”

Kisame considers it, but he’ll survive without food for another few hours, and he wants to keep working. If he waits too long, there's no saying whether he’ll lose the trail; the reaction his spell had was already unusual enough, and he doesn’t want to risk waiting any longer.

“I'm just here to pick up a few things,” he says cheerfully. “Appreciate it, though.”

Warmth replaces the distraction in Rin's face, and she smiles at him. “All right. I leave at about four, usually, but any time before that I'm happy to do whatever you need, and I can stay late, too. If you need supplies or record checks or anything of the sort, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Kisame tells her, and means it. He’s been doing all his own work since the moment he decided to get into this business, and having someone willing to take care of all the little things is both startling and warming. With a slightly bashful smile, he edges past Rin's desk, trying not to scatter snow over her books, and slips into his office.

The surroundings are different, but the faint hum of magic is familiar, something he’s long since become accustomed to, and he breathes it in as he steps up to the tallest shelf, traces his fingers over neatly labeled bins. He’s not a wizard or any flavor of mage, not a sorcerer or an enchanter, but samebito are magical creatures and tied to the world in a way humans aren’t; it’s why he’s good at finding lost things and bringing them back. A touch of extra magic to enhance his own, and Kisame can find almost anyone.

It doesn’t always end well, but…that’s more a function of the world at large, Kisame suspects, than it is his magic.

With a quiet huff, he tugs the closest bin out, reaches in, and takes the first thing that comes to hand—it’s a length of yarn, hand-spun and pure white, and Kisame smiles. As good a system as any, he decides, and pulls a small stone orb off the shelf. Thankfully he remembered to clean it after the last use, and he twists off the top, knots the string and coils it inside, and adds a generous pinch of mugwort and a smaller one of lavender. One of the two remaining hairs Haku gave him goes in as well, and Kisame closes the ball again, shakes it lightly, and puts it down on his desk.

If this doesn’t work, there are more things he can try, he thinks, but grimaces a little. The black liquid he found is something uncertain, strange, and he doesn’t want to use it in a working unless he has to. If he’s left with no choice, he will, because he told Zabuza he’d find Kimimaro, but it seems like a big risk to take. There are a lot of nasty things in this world that Kisame would really rather not touch, and anything that can end a tracking spell that violently is probably included on the list.

Still. There's a missing kid, and Kisame's going to keep looking. It’s all he can do.

Low voices draw him back to reality, and he glances up, at the door to his office. That’s Obito on the other side, talking to Rin, and Kisame hesitates, not wanting to intrude, but…

Picking up the orb and a pack of matches, he crosses to the door and eases it open, stepping out. Rin and Obito are in front of her computer, arguing about the price of something—kelpie hair, Kisame thinks he hears Obito say—but they break off when he clears his throat. Obito's head whips up, and he blinks at Kisame for a moment.

“Oh,” he says, like it’s a surprise Kisame is here at all.

Rin elbows him in the ribs, making him grunt, then gives Kisame a warm smile. “Was there something you needed?” she asks.

Kisame smiles back, rueful. “I was hoping you had a map of the city,” he says sheepishly. “I can't seem to find mine.”

“I have a bunch of copies,” Obito offers, straightening. “How many do you need?”

“Two, if you can spare them,” Kisame says, following him as he heads into his office. “I appreciate it.”

The glance Obito gives him is strange, unreadable, but there's nothing hostile in it, and he turns away quickly, pulling an oversized folder off his bookshelf. Kisame catches a glimpse of detailed maps, all different neighborhoods and sections of the city, carefully arranged, before Obito pulls out two papers from the very back. “Here,” he says, offering them to Kisame. “I always have extra, so just let me know what you need.”

Strange, really, to have someone so ready to help, Kisame thinks as he takes them. He kind of wishes their hands were close enough to brush, but there's too much paper between them for that. Obito has nice hands, though; long, deft fingers scattered with scars, neat nails painted dark blue, and he’s wearing a ring around his left thumb that’s set with a purple stone. It feels powerful, though Kisame can't get more of a read on it than that.

“You’ve already done a lot just letting me rent here,” he says with a chuckle, meeting Obito's gaze. That one eye is sharp and dark, framed by those interesting scars. Kisame wonders if he fought in the Wars, even though he looks a little too young. Age didn’t stop a lot of people from ending up in the fight, Kisame knows.

Obito huffs, and there's something tight in the line of his mouth, though he doesn’t look away. “You're polite to Rin,” he says. “And Nagato vouched for you. That already puts you had and shoulders above most people.”

It takes effort not to flush, and Kisame chuckles bashfully, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and not quite sure how to answer. When he glances up, though, Obito looks faintly amused, and the set of his expression has eased.

“Is that everything you need?” he asks, and Kisame realizes abruptly that they're both still holding the edges of the maps, paper connecting them. “I'm heading out again in a second, but I can put it on hold for a few minutes.”

If Kisame had doubted it, that alone would be enough to convince him that moving in here was the right choice. Everyone works for themselves, just trying to get by, but—it’s good to remember that there are kind people left in the city as well. Not everyone with magic in them sticks together, of course, but it’s always a relief to find those who do.

“I’m good with this,” he says, tries not to let too much gratitude slide out into his voice. “Had a hiccup with my last locator spell, so I'm trying a different version.”

Obito smiles back, and it’s a little crooked from the scars, but…he’s pretty. Pretty and a little strange, and Kisame's always loved a mystery. “You can use the main room for casting if you want,” he offers. “The light’s better, and there's better airflow.”

Since Kisame wasn’t really looking forward to stinking up his small office with strong herbal smoke, he chuckles and follows Obito back out. “Thanks. Might be a bit strong, though.”

Obito waves a dismissive hand. “This is your office too, now. Just warn us if you're going to be using cypress or elder, though—Rin's sensitive to them.”

“As we found out the hard way, thank you, Obito,” Rin says pointedly, without looking up from her computer.

With a huff, Obito flicker her lightly in the back of the head, but waves Kisame towards a small, bare table near one of the windows. “Free to use,” he says, and then, “You can't _keep_ holding that over my head, Rin, I _didn’t know_.”

“Of course I can,” Rin says cheerfully, and offers Kisame a grin as he passes them. “You should thank me, you know. I'm keeping you humble.”

“You're keeping me _stressed_ ,” Obito complains, but he glances over her shoulder at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “That’s a scam. _No one_ sells purified black moonstone that cheap. Next.”

“You _could_ do this yourself instead of making me take care of all the stocking,” Rin retorts, but clicks to a different page.

Kisame chuckles a little to himself, spreading one of the maps out on the table and then lighting a match. He presses it through one of the small holes in the stone ball, waits a second for the herbs and yarn to catch, and then pulls it out, setting the container down in the exact center of the map. A moment of focus, a touch of will, and he thinks of what Haku told him about Kimimaro, the white hair, his passage under Utakata's bridge. Doesn’t let himself dwell on the ending of the last spell, but concentrates on this one, and when the pale smoke starts to bubble out of the ball it falls across the paper like it’s heavier than air.

Watching its slow creep across the map, Kisame marks where it lingers—the abandoned building where Kimimaro slept, Zabuza’s main office, one of the local shelters that asks even fewer questions than most. In between each spot are thinner streamers of smoke, frequently traced paths, but none of them run along the river.

Frowning, Kisame takes a breath, blows out with a touch of intent. The smoke scatters, rolling across the paper in waves, and tumbles off the edges of the table. Only one strand is left on the map, dull black instead of white, and it runs from the office building to the rail bridge and off along the river. Past the spot where Kisame's last spell exploded, which is a plus, but…

There are even darker spots, exactly the color of the blood-like stuff Kisame found, scattered along Kimimaro’s path. Like footsteps, he thinks, and something uneasy curls down his spine. Too far apart for something physical, though—there must be a block at least between each one. But whatever it is, it’s connected to Kimimaro somehow, following him, and Kisame really, really wishes this were a simple case of Kimimaro sleeping off a high in a ditch somewhere.

“Kisame?” Obito asks, and a hand with a ring settles on the edge of the table. Kisame blinks and glances up to find Obito frowning faintly, watching him. “Is something wrong?”

Kisame hesitates, but…Obito's some kind of magic-user as well, even if Kisame doesn’t know precisely what he is. Maybe some insight here would be helpful.

“I think so,” he admits, and leans back a little, careful not to let his concentration waver. “I've never had a spell look like this before.”

Obito leans over the table, mouth curling into a thoughtful frown. “I'm crap at locator spells,” he says easily, “but…that doesn’t look like any version I've seen before. Unless your target can be in two places at once.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? This spell is only supposed to show Kimimaro—it was his hair Kisame added, after all. Even if someone were chasing him, there shouldn’t be any sign of them on the map. Kisame huffs unhappily, rubbing a hand over his hair. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Maybe I cast it wrong.”

Obito doesn’t deny the possibility, even if he doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But…this looks familiar. This pattern. I think…”

“I thought you said you’d never seen a locator spell do this before,” Kisame points out, a little bemused, as Obito shoves away from the table and heads towards Rin's desk, where a listing stack of folders is sitting.

“I haven’t,” Obito confirms, digging through the top folder, then one below it. A moment later he comes up with a much more detailed map, marked in red pen, and unfolds it carefully, laying it out below Kisame's spell.

As the marks come clear, Kisame's breath catches, and he smooths the paper out carefully. The maps are on different scales, so nothing precisely lines up, but—

“This is the string of murders the police have been working on,” Obito says, and glances up at Kisame with something sharp in his expression. His finger traces the line of marks, the mirrored line of steps that the thing following Kimimaro must have taken. “Three bodies, found here—” A street corner three blocks from the rail bridge “—here—” An old observation point overlooking the river “—and here.” A subway station, long since boarded up and abandoned, if Kisame remembers correctly. It’s also where Kimimaro’s trail completely vanishes. “All these other spots—the police found pieces there.”

Kisame winces. _Pieces_ never means anything good. But…the locations are much too exact to be coincidence, if the maps are right. If there were only one or two spots in common, Kisame _might_ write it off, but as it is, there's no chance the two cases aren’t connected.

“You're sure whoever you're tracking is still alive?” Obito asks quietly, glancing up, and there's regret in his expression.

“Yeah,” Kisame answers, equally soft. “My magic doesn’t work on the dead. If I can track him, that means he’s alive.”

That makes Obito snort, faintly rueful, but before Kisame can ask he’s moving away, grabbing his coat. “Can you mark that down?” he asks Kisame, even as he pulls it on. “I need to drag you down to the station. The detective running this case is about ready to pull his hair out, and he’ll look like even more of an asshole bald. If you’d be willing to help, we might be able to solve both cases at once.”

Kisame tends to avoid the police whenever possible; they don’t tend to be fans of people as obviously other as Kisame is, for the most part. Given his job, though, this is hardly the first time he’s ended up on the edges of someone’s case, so he nods, catching the pen that Obito tosses him and marking out Kimimaro’s path and the steps that follow it. “Sure. Many hands make light work, right?”

Obito huffs in amusement, grabs the files and the police’s map. “Rin, eat something,” he calls over his shoulder, and then is gone, hurrying down the stairs.

Rin rolls her eyes, but waves to Kisame as he steps out the door. “Break a leg,” she says, though her eyes are full of worry.

“I’ll take care of him,” Kisame says before he can think twice about, sees the surprise flicker across her face, and closes the door behind himself before Rin can answer.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, a fic for my twin on our birthday. Happy birthday, Peter! Here's to all the happiness you deserve, and all the joy that you can bear, and a good year to come!


End file.
